


Escape and Recovery

by socialist_aziraphale



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Sanctuary Daryl, mentions of rape/non-con, not explicitly stated or confirmed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28565391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socialist_aziraphale/pseuds/socialist_aziraphale
Summary: Jesus saves Daryl from his capture at the Sanctuary. And all the fluff and angst that follows.
Relationships: Paul Rovia/Daryl Dixon
Comments: 20
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -written from Jesus' point of view, but not one point perspective  
> -I've never written a fanfic before, so keep that in mind when noticing plot holes  
> -I've had this story in my head for a long time, and I couldn't find a fanfic similar enough to it, so i just started writing.  
> -i hope you enjoy it <3  
> -as is, it is not finished, but I'll try to finish it asap (bc i hate unfinished works) but i wrote most of this when i was 17 and im 21 now. i have more than one chapter written already, i just wont post more unless y'all like it. just comment if you want more

Paul would be lying if he said he wasn't in the middle of this compound that was run, housed, and guarded by the most dangerous group of people in the newly known world, ironically called The Sanctuary, entirely to rescue his crush.

Yes, he went into this hellhole, _ voluntarily _ , to save the man he had a _ crush _ on. Granted, it was a pretty damn big crush (safer to say he was a little in love with Daryl.)

But, anyone would've done this for Daryl. Anyone could see he was treasured by his family. Paul didn't know if Daryl himself knew this, and the possibility that he didn't was sad to think about.

And he also didn't know if Daryl considered him to be a part of that family.  _ Probably not,  _ Paul thought,  _ considering how much I annoy him. _

Yet, family or not, here he was, crouch-walking his way through the halls of The Sanctuary. (Despite the fact he repeatedly called himself a ninja, he was totally winging it 95% of the time. And since he was a gymnastics teacher Before, he usually winged it in a flexible, ninja way. He was  _ shocked _ he got this far.)

The halls were mostly empty. Every once in a while, he'd hear someone coming, jump in the nearest closet, listen for them to pass, and then sneak back out.

His aim was to find where they kept the prisoners. Simple goal, very difficult.  _ I really should've thought this out _ , he scolded himself.  _ If I get my dumb ass caught, what will happen to Daryl? _

After the 5th or so time jumping in a random closet, he exited a room to see none other than Dwight walking with his back to Paul. Shoving down the rage that bubbled up in his gut at seeing Daryl's vest on that shitheads back, he followed. Dwight turned a corner and entered a room. Paul was quick to follow. With adrenaline high, he attacked. With one strong arm around Dwight's neck, and the other hand over his nose and mouth, he cut off the other man's air supply. Dwight fought hard, that's for sure. He tried a few time to throw Paul against a wall -either to knock him off or make enough noise to alert someone in the surrounding rooms. Paul smartly countered by throwing an expertly silent foot up to push against the wall and maintain control of the situation. He'd be so screwed if Dwight's help came.

Dwight eventually, finally passed out. Feeling accomplished, Mr. Ninja quickly cut the cord off a nearby coffee pot and tied Dwight's arms behind his back and shoved a handkerchief in his mouth. 5 seconds later, Dwight woke up. His muffled yells -probably from waking up to a sweaty cloth in his mouth- quickly ceased.

Paul stood above him in what was clearly Dwight's bedroom. He made eye contact before saying, "I'm going to take it out of your mouth, and you'll tell me where Daryl is. If you move or yell, I'll just knock you out again. Understand?" Dwight nodded.

Paul slowly pulled out the gag. Dwight didn't yell, thankfully.

"Okay, now's the part where you tell me where Daryl is."

"I can show you. I don't want him here. Believe me. I'm more on your side than you think I am. You can even untie me. I won't run. Won't even get off the floor. Please. I can't feel my arm and my left shoulder dislocates easily. And the Sanctuary doctor is dead," he spoke quickly, as if he had been waiting to confess. "I want to help you. And I want my arms in front of me."

Paul considered while Dwight grimaced at what was probably pain in his shoulder.

Paul knew he’d have to give trust to get it. He reached under the guy and cut the cord. Dwight gently wrestled his hands free.

“I’ll make a map. To where he is. You can tie me up again before you go, just with my arms in front. So it looks like I didn’t help you. Please trust me, Daryl is a pain in the ass prisoner to keep. I don’t want him.”

Paul stared at him quietly for a while before saying, “The vest. Give it.”

Dwight seemed shocked. He looked down at the vest for a few seconds before shrugging it off and handing it over.

Paul took it and carefully put it on over his trench coat. He didn't want to have to carry it.

“There's paper and pencils in my desk, behind you.”

Paul got the items and handed them over.

Dwight explained as he drew. “His cell is just a broom closet. It's not far from here. I'm his handler. I have to be close to him in case something happens or if I have to fee-” Paul cut in.

“His handler? You mean you're the one who holds the chain he's tied to?” Paul’s face was hard and his eyes bored into Dwight.

“....um, yes? I didn't choose the role. Negan gave it to me.” Dwight could see the anger in Paul's eyes. He looked appropriately scared.

Paul abruptly cut another cord and held it out to Dwight. “Tie up your legs.”

Dwight awkwardly did so. Paul untangled the cord on the ground and retied it around Dwight’s hands roughly. He said no goodbye as he shoved the handkerchief back in his mouth, snatched up the map and left.

He 180’ed outside the door, strode back in and knocked Dwight out with a hard kick to the face.

Paul briskly walked to where Daryl was supposed to be while keeping an ear out for Saviours. 

Thankfully, he didn't run into anybody else. He came to the door and listened for any noises or voices, any sign this was a trap set be Dwight. He heard nothing.

He crouched and knocked softly “Daryl?” he whispered.

Nothing. He tried again. “Daryl?”

Then, a very quiet response, “M’here.”

It was Daryl.

Paul let out a sigh of relief. He tried the door. Locked. Desperately, he looked around.

There! There was a key on the door jamb, above the door.  _ That seems irresponsible of Dwight. _ Paul mentally shrugged,  _ Oh well, I guess he really did want Daryl to escape, if he's  _ this _ reckless. _

Paul fit the key into the lock and opened the door _. _ It was dark inside. And it stank. Bad. Like feces and sweat. And it was hot and muggy. Desperate to see Daryl, he ignored all of this and stepped inside.

“Daryl.”

He heard, rather than saw, Daryl stand up. Paul tentatively reached out. He felt cloth. Daryl’s shirt.

Then, a hand on his arm. The light grip turned right ads Daryl pulled Paul toward him. Into a hug.

Paul froze in surprise. This was not the reaction he expected from the stoic Daryl Dixon. Paul relaxed into the hug. It truly good to be in Daryl's presence. Especially since they were hugging.

Daryl held him tightly and buried his face in Paul's shoulder. He was breathing heavy.

“Paul.” Daryl murmured into his own vest. Paul held him tighter when he heard that. It was quiet in the little closet.

They stayed there for a few minutes, but Paul knew they had to get moving. He had little idea what Dwight was up to.

“Daryl, we have to move,” he murmured as he pulled back.

He could feel the movement of Daryl nodding in front of him.

Paul grabbed at Daryl’s arm, intending to simply know where he was. Daryl, though, took the initiative and took Paul’s hand, linking their fingers together.

_ Fuck, _ Paul thought painfully.  _ I can only imagine what he's gone through for him to be this physical. _

Paul turned to the door and slowly opened it with his free hand.

The coast seemed clear. Paul moved forward, with Daryl in tow. After walking into the light, Paul whispered to Daryl behind him.

“Do you know the layout?” Daryl nodded.

“Nearest exit?”

Daryl pointed ahead. They walked silently, only having to do the Quickly Jump Into a Closet thing twice. Each time they were in the closets, Paul could feel Daryl tense up next to him, obviously not liking the confined space. Each time, Paul squeezed Daryl’s hand.

* * *

Eventually, Daryl led him to where the Saviours kept the bikes. Daryl let go of his hand to peruse through the motorcycles. Paul guessed he was looking for his own. Daryl paused next to one and looked expectantly at Paul.

Paul walked to the bike and stood next to Daryl, “This yours?”

“Ya”

“Keys?”

Daryl rooted around the compartments on the bike. He pulled out the keys.

Paul looked around and saw the gate out. It had chains and a lock.  _ Fuck.  _ He moved to it, and experimentally yanked on the lock. To his surprise, it opened.  _ Guess it's only meant to look like it's locked. _ He opened the gate and turned back to Daryl, who was already seated on the bike, walking it towards the gate.

Paul hopped on the back and eagerly wrapped his arms around Daryl’s waist. It was surprisingly thin.

Daryl wheeled the bike out farther, anxiously looking around for Saviours. He started the engine and hit the gas. They were moving fast. Paul held tighter, and leaned forward until his chest was sealed against Daryl’s back, and breathed a sigh of pure relief.

_ I did it,  _ he thought.  _ He's safe. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hellooo. i got 4 comments asking for more, and that is more than needed to make me write more. im definitely very responsive to positive comments, like a dog. anyways, i had to edit the tags, and i will continue to do so as i post more. uuum thankn you all (4 of you, hehe) for your comments and kudos, i didnt think anyone would like my writing, so im happy to do this story and i cant wait :))))))
> 
> ill try posting once a week or so, but keep in mind, i have a job, which tires me out a lot, so i dont think ill post every 7 days exactly, but i will do my best :) thank youuuu, hope you enjoy🤍

About 15 miles from Hilltop, the bike runs out of gas, and it’s getting dark.

“We should make camp. Go by foot in the morning,” Paul breaks the silence.

They hid the bike in some bushes next to a steep hill. This steep hill became their camp. They didn’t dare start a fire, because there was no protection from walkers. They had barely spoken at all so far. It was like they didn't need to speak.

Paul still felt the need to break the silence. I'll take first shift. And since we have no fire, we’ll have to cuddle to keep warm. Some men get really weird about that: cuddling with another man, especially a gay one. But I promise I'm not gonna perv on you- not that you aren't attractive- that's not-" _oh god, I'm rambling_ "I don't kno- that's not why i-" 

"Shuddup 'n c'mere." 

Paul nods awkwardly and sits next to Daryl. Uncharacteristically, Daryl doesn’t hesitate as he lays down next to Paul, head in his lap, eyes closed.

Since Daryl's eyes are closed, Paul takes the liberty to stare… at Daryl… a lot.

Daryl's face looks tired. Not a sleepy tired. A tired-in-the-soul kind of tired. Paul's heart lurches at the thought of why. Daryl isn't the type to share,and he certainly would not pry or force Daryl to relive anything, so Paul is left to his horrid imagination. 

The Saviors were evil, he knew that. And they'd had Daryl long enough to do so much damage. _Had they tortured him?_

Daryl didn't look especially injured, only a little too skinny and pretty dirty.

A horrible thought dawned. Despite the fact that Negan boasted about his "no raping" rule, Paul knew it was a load of shit, a lie to make Negan look somewhat respectable. _What if they had hurt him like that? What if Daryl-_

Paul didn't get to finish that thought, fortunately, because Daryl moved in his sleep. His attention was brought back to Daryl. Paul's hand was tangled in Daryl's greasy hair.

 _How-? When did I start petting him?_ Daryl was fast asleep, apparently not bothered about being petted. Paul mentally shrugged and continued to stroke Daryl's hair.

_I'm gonna make sure he showers at Hilltop,_ Paul thinks distractedly.

He continues to sit silently with Daryl, content in the knowledge Daryl is safe.

His attention drifts to the trees and the sound of birds high in the branches, the warmth from Daryl’s head seeping into Paul’s thigh. The calm of the moment contrasts from the constant stress of the world as it is now. These moments remind him the world is still worth it. Life is made up of these moments, when you see the whole world when you close your eyes and hear it’s life, feel its warmth in another person, and feel small, and profound, at the same time.

“Paul.” 

Daryl’s voice doesn’t sound very asleep. Paul looks down. Daryl seems to be looking at Paul’s boots. 

“Yes, Daryl?”

Daryl doesn't speak immediately. Paul waits.

“Can y- … can we…,” he trails off.

“You can ask anything, Daryl.” Paul gives one more (hopefully) comforting stroke to Daryl’s hair.

Daryl sits up and turns. He looks at the ground as he tries to speak again. Nothing comes out. 

Paul takes a chance and ducks his head down to look Daryl in the eyes. Daryl looks to Paul like he’s tearing up. It shocks Paul a little and he feels awkward, but he tries to project a feeling of calm, of patience, for Daryl’s sake. _It’s got to take a lot to make Daryl Dixon cry._

“It’s okay, Daryl. You can ask me, Paul says in a voice he hopes sounds safe.

Daryl takes a quick, deep breath before speaking.

“Can I fall asleep with you holding me?”

Paul’s heart hurts.

“Of course,” he says, emphatically, holding his arms out.

Daryl, moves quickly, but still awkwardly, into them. He lays his head on Paul’s chest, ear over his heart, and his arm falls across Paul's waist with the other arm tucked between them. Paul gets the sense that _this_ is a need, like freedom, or sunshine. Not a want. The fact Daryl had to ask makes Paul sad for all kinds of reasons.

He breathes deeply, serious with the knowledge Daryl needs him, and happy he gets to be close to Daryl. It's a privilege. 

He’s careful to hold Daryl snugly, but not tightly. A hard line to walk between. He can't tell if he's overthinking this or not. Probably. _Fuck, you're thirty-three, Paul. Calm down. It’s all alright now. This isn't complicated. Sure you're a little touch starved, but this is still a basic task._

Paul continues to berate himself for a while, then notices Daryl has fallen asleep. Really asleep. Relaxed and calm. Paul watches again. Another privilege.

* * *

Several hours later, late in the night, Daryl moves in his sleep. he grumbles before moving his arm so it lies on Paul's chest, hand in front of his face. He grumbles every so often for a few minutes. Then his hand fists itself into Paul's shirt, Daryl's brows furrowed, face twisted up like the fabric in his hand. 

Emboldened by the dark, Paul lays his hand over Daryl's. Daryl, still asleep, reacts and holds his hand back, fingers folded around his thumb.

Soon, Daryl is sleeping soundly again, and Paul thinks, _Fuck it. No shifts. He needs a whole night of sleep. he deserves it._

So he sits there. All night. Awake. Happy and calm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rewrote the ending of chapter 2, kinda. i mostly just added to it, to make the beginning of ch 3 flow better, so if youre reading as they come out, go to chapter 2 and read the continued ending, thanks
> 
> This is the first chapter that ive written the majority of now. the first 2 were mostly 17 year old me's writing. i tried really hard, but i dont think im a very good writer, so please tell me if any of it can be improves, like the pacing or the dialogue, i want feedback :)

Paul is still awake when the sun rises. Daryl wakes a few minutes later, his outdoors-wired mind sensing the changing light. They waste no time getting up and ready to go. Paul makes a mental note of where the bike is hidden. No doubt, Daryl does too, it’s  _ his _ bike. It won't hurt to do it too.

“Only about 15 minutes from Hilltop, we’ll be there by noon,” Paul comments.

Daryl nods and they stride off. They walk side by side in companionable silence for a while, then Daryl speaks.

“It was real quiet in there. An’ i missed talking.”

“So, you wanna talk, then?”

“Ya.”

“Any topics in mind?”

Daryl seems to think for a while, “You said ‘fore that yer gay. Tell me about that.”

Paul’s eyebrows lift, not expecting that. Not just the question, but the abruptness too. Paul is no stranger to cis straight people asking about his sexuality, usually in a awkward and nervous way, avoiding the word ‘gay’ and even whispering sometimes, like its a secret. But most people seem content not to ask, preferring to not acknowledge it at all.

But Daryl is asking. And not shyly. The usually shy, mumbly Daryl is asking point blank to talk about sexuality. Paul tries not to act surprised.

“Well... what about it?”

“Jus’.... anything… when did you realize?”

“Oh, um, I was about 16, I guess. I might've figured it out earlier if not for the whole orphan-in-a-foster-home-and-eventually-running-away thing. It was kinda simple for me, once i was on my own and had enough time to discover myself, it was kinda like ‘Oh! Apparently I'm gay!’ I hadn't thought about sexuality much until then. I was too busy dodging belts… and social workers… foster parents, school, responsibility, all that.” Paul smiles cheekily up at Daryl. He looks down at him, seeming a little amused. Paul continues.

“Once I was on my own, I just wandered. Fun fact: many other homeless people are also gay. Or trans, or mentally ill, or disabled. Or just otherwise excluded from the hetero patriarchal capitalist hell it was. The world, I mean. Or America, rather. Anyways, it was through my friendships with other LGBTQ people I met that I escaped homelessness. It was my best friend, at the time, that helped the most. Once she got a foothold on a job and an apartment, she brought me with her. Her name was Mira. Her dream was to be an actor.” Paul smiles at the memory of her. Then it sours. “She wanted it so bad. But she knew she could never get it. Anyways, she got hooked on heroin, and lost herself, then she just… disappeared, and she took all my money, and some of my stuff with her. Never saw her again.” 

The story hangs in the air. Paul realizes he’s been rambling. Already off-topic. He says as much.

“Anyways, I brought her up because she introduced me to lots of queer and trans people, and they really influenced my blossoming into the openly gay disaster I am today!” Paul bows as if just being announced onstage.  _ God, I’m so awkward! Did I really just bow? _

Paul looks to Daryl for his reaction. Daryl looks at the ground as he walks. Paul keeps walking and looks ahead.  _ Oh Jesus, Jesus, he didn't ask for your life story. Oh God, he probably regrets asking. Paaaul! You idiot! _

“S’the first I heard you talkin’ bout yourself. You talk a lot. But you don't talk about yourself.”

Paul takes a moment to process the insightful observation Daryl has made, and that it sums up his entire personality, basically.

“That’s… true. I suppose I don't. At least not with most people. I talk about myself with Maggie. She’s one of the only people I’ve opened up to in a while. The  _ only  _ one, actually. Not since before I came to Hilltop. Shit, even before the world ended,” Paul muses aloud.

“Yer tellin’  _ me _ , though.”

“I am.”

“...why?”

"I guess I just trust you. I like you, Daryl, as a person. You're… safe." Paul hears the double meaning in telling Daryl 'you're safe' after he's gone through a traumatic experience  _ after  _ the words have sat between them for a moment. He decides trying to over-clarify what he meant would only be awkward and confusing and make himself look stupid.  _ Well, more stupid.  _

Besides, it's still true either way.

Daryl seems to have noticed the double meaning, too. He looks thoughtful for a few moments, then a small smile appears. A little Daryl smile.

"I see that smile, Daryl Dixon."

Daryl doesn't answer, but his smile grows.

"You have a great smile. I wish I got to see it more." 

"Then I'll trust you with it more."

Daryl's words hit Paul in the chest. 

"Daryl, that's the best thing that's ever been said to me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Ooh ooh!," suddenly Paul remembers. The vest. "I got this for you," he says as he pulls it off and holds it out.

Daryl is more surprised he didn't notice that Paul. "I- you-.. How?!"

"I took it back."

"Did he let you take it back?"

"Well, no. I knocked him out and tied him up."

It's a blessing to hear Daryl laugh, it really is. And Paul does his best to commit it to memory. Everything. The heat of the day, the sunshine, Daryl's laugh, his smile, just being right here, in this moment. And even though he's sweaty, and he's tired, and hasn't slept or eaten in over a day, he can't think of anywhere else in the world he'd rather be.

  
  



End file.
